


Pudding cups

by NegansOtherWife



Series: Tumblr Requests [11]
Category: The Walking Dead (Comics)
Genre: Family Feels, Fluff, Gen, Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 06:19:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15924632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NegansOtherWife/pseuds/NegansOtherWife
Summary: There’s Connor and me, and Negan makes three. A rare look into Negan as a friend. Nothing more, nothing less. Negan x [Connor x OC]





	Pudding cups

**Author's Note:**

> Another Tumblr request. If you'd like to leave me a request, visit my Tumblr page! x

I’d spent the entirety of the day on my feet. Everything ached. My feet, my arms. Hell, even my knees throbbed. Today had been extra rough, and I’d spent the rest of the ride back to the factory dreaming of my bed, wedged between Negan and Connor while they’d bickered about an old Yankee’s game. 

I needed my bed, craved its simple comfort. Only there could I find solace from the brutal demands of being a Savior. 

Sometimes a girl just needed a break, correction, I needed a break from the testosterone-fueled atmosphere that somehow had become my life. In my desperation, I’d even skipped dinner in favor of a little extra one on one time with my bed, knowing full well that they were serving my favorite dessert tonight. Chocolate pudding. The temptation of rest temporarily overpowered all other thoughts and desires. My needs were simple. Shower and rest as the next day was fast approaching. I’d be up at the ass crack of dawn before I even blinked. 

That wonderful feeling of tension leaving my entire body had just occurred when a knock resonated from where else—? My bedroom door.

**Knock. Knock.**

“No, no, this can’t be fucking happening to me. Go away!” My mumbled protest into the mound of pillows stacked beneath my head does nothing to stop the persistent knocking. With a heaving sigh, I’m wrenched from my warm cocoon. 

 **Knock. Knock. Knock-ity. Knock.**  

Against my better judgment, I find myself opening the door. 

“You look fucking exhausted, Bunny.” Negan’s familiar smirk and mischievous eyes greet me at the door, and I have the sudden urge to wipe that stupid smirk off his face. He’s overbearing, overly talkative, and just all around— _over_. He’s also one of the few people I trust. Still, my fingers itch. His only saving grace, the two pudding cups he holds out in invitation. “How ‘bout a game of ‘Guess That Wife’? Ready?” He pauses a moment before deliberately raising the pitch of his voice. “ _Negan, really? A size six? Just what exactly are you trying to say?_ ”

I hardly miss a beat. “Amber!”

“Bingo!”

“Someone should tell them the world ended, Bear. Shopping malls went down the toilet with an established government.” I yawn, stepping aside so he can enter. Bypassing the small seating area that sits perpendicular to my bed, he plants himself smack dab in the middle of the nest I’d made for myself. “What did I say about shoes on the bed?”

“They don’t like you, Bunny.” He ignores the rhetorical question, kicking off his boots and all together messing up my perfectly constructed algorithm of what was sure to be a good night’s sleep. 

“That’s ridiculous.” I scoff. “You’re my friend and—”

“Best friend,” He interrupts.  

“Well, best friends share everything.” I goad, dropping the hopeless subject of Negan’s harem. It was his fault if he didn’t want to listen to me and finally settle down with one woman, a _sane_ one at that. The mattress gives a groan of protest as I shuffle across the Queen sized bed, we both pointedly ignore it, digging into the artificially sweetened confection with plastic sporks.

“You like this new bed?” He gives me this cheesy wink that no doubt has made other girls fall hard. Not me, not even once. I’ve told him several times that it only serves to make him look constipated. 

“You only got it so that we’d both fit for when you’d come over _uninvited,_ ” I point out, licking the chocolate off my lip and giving him a small nudge, “but yeah, I like it, Bear. Connor should be the one kissing your ass though, do you know how hard it is to fuck on a Twin XL?”

“Can’t be harder than my dick.” He smirks.

“Can we get through one conversation without you mentioning your dick? But yeah, you’re right.” My plastic utensil scrapes at air and I subtly begin to eye Negan’s still half-full dessert. “It’s not as easy as you.” I cheek, swiping at his cup.

**Knock-ity. Knock. Tap-tap.**

“Who the hell is that?”

“Carson,” I answer confidently.

Are you even family if you can’t tell who’s at your door by the pitch and tempo of their knock?  

“Damnit Negan, you beat me to the punch.” He greets with a heavy sigh, pudding cups in both hands.

Grumbling, I step aside allowing him to enter the room. “I told you fuckers I wanted to sleep.”

“But it’s pudding night; you love pudding.” Carson protests sheepishly, rubbing at the bridge of his nose so that his glasses jostle slightly with the movement.  

“Yeah, yeah.” With a peck on the cheek to show that there are no hard feelings, I eagerly reach for the goods. “Give me that pudding.”

“Hey, boss.” Carson easily makes himself at home in one of the threadbare couches in the room.

“C-man,” Negan greets as they clasp hands in that stereotypical guy manner. What the hell is this—a meetup? “We’re playing ‘Guess That Wife’. Ready for this one?”

“I was born ready.”

“Hey, it’s my turn!” I protest quickly shushing Negan from my position near the door. If I know my boys they’ll be more of them here shortly. They sorta have this pack mentality, where one goes the other’s just kinda matriculate.  

**Kno—**

Point proved. I don’t know how they do it. 

“Hey, D. Pudding?”

“You’re favorite.” He shrugs. “Uh, brought a six pack, too.”

“Get your ass in here, D!” Negan’s cheer of approval mingles with Carson’s as he motions from your bed. “We’re playing ‘Guess That Wife’!”

“Who’s turn is it?” He plops down next to Carson before passing around the beers, leaving me to juggle three plastic cups of pudding. 

“Mine!” I cheer, crawling across Negan’s lap and under my ruffled sheets as I dig in happily to my pudding cups. Despite the front I put up with these boys, I love the fact that they’re here and each and every one of them had been thoughtful enough to bring me something. Negan causally slings an arm over my shoulder, pulling me into his side as I hum thoughtfully. “Ok, I got one. Which wife said this: ‘ _All I’m saying is—if you added some pops of color around the factory, people would smile more often. I’m thinking shades of turquoise and magenta.’”_

“Amber,” Carson guess after a moment.

“I’m going with Tanya on this one.” Dwight finally decides. “She’s been known to say some stupid shit.”

“Both of you assholes are wrong—it’s Frankie!” Negan smirks. “Alright, I got a new one and I’m talking last night.” He pauses for emphasis. “Who said this: _‘I’m thinking of going back to school to get my GED once this is all over.’_ ”

“You’re shitting me?” I only get in before we’re all doubled over in laughter, my gut tightens in only the way that a full-bellied laugh can achieve. 

“When this is all over?” Dwight mimics. He shakes his head sympathetically, “Oh, honey…”

“You know who would love this?” Carson starts after finally catching his breath, “Seth, I wonder where—”

“Open up! You rat bastards are having a party without me?” The steady pounding at the door intensifies and without waiting for an answer, Seth barges in. Figures, I think while rolling my eyes, no chocolate pudding but his arms are piled high with several brown paper bags. 

“Seth, how the fuck did you know we were here?” I ask wide-eyed. We couldn’t have been that loud. 

“The walls are thin.” He shrugs. “I brought chips and dip. Oh, fuck yes! Beer?” He tosses the chips onto the bed, grabbing a recycled bottle and planting his ass on the bed near my feet.

It’s ironic that some of the most feared leaders of the Sanctuary are all meshed into one room, bickering and joking like little kids. But I know each and every one of them, inside and out. Their usual stoic facade tended to fall away the minute they crossed my threshold. We were just _us_ here, not individuals who had the pressure of looking after the livelihood of an entire factory full of people. 

**Tap. Tap. Tap.**

“Who’s that?” Seth mumbles through a mouthful of corn chips. “D, pass the salsa.”

“Let’s see.” I groan, heaving Negan’s arm from my shoulder and stepping around the bodies now scattered across my bed. These gatherings just always sorted ended with everyone piled atop each other. I’d made the comparison of a pack of wolves sleeping in a heap after waking up on more than one occasion to them all having accidentally spent the night. 

“Dwight, fuck, move your foot! It’s in my rib.”

“You’re rib is in my foot.” He snorts, digging the appendage even further into Carson's midriff.

With a huff, I open the door, only to meet Connor’s light blue eyes and familiar easy grin. He’s the best part of this equation, without him I would have never met my boys. “Hey, pudding.” He teases, holding out a single pudding cup in an offering. 

“Thanks, babe. But they kind of beat you to it.” His lips pucker in thought, only for a moment, before I step aside letting him see the four grinning men on my bed. They all wave.

“You’re a bit slow, fucker.” Dwight grins good-naturedly. 

“What the hell is this? A party? Is that dip..?” He squints suspiciously before turning to me. “I thought you said you were going to bed.”

“Sorta just happened.” I shrug. 

“We’re playing ‘Guess That Wife’.” Negan offers, tucking a hand behind his head and sinking deeper into the pile of pillows beneath him. 

“My fucking favorite,” Connor grumbles, dropping a kiss onto my forehead as he saunters past. “Who’s winning?” 

“Fucking, Dwight,” Seth mumbles, tossing him a beer. Connor settles next to Negan, leaving just a sliver of space between the two of them which I already know is intended for _me_. 

And that’s what makes me pause mid-step. Rocking back on my heels, I take a second to just observe them all. So many mismatched and broken pieces, we each have our own lives and commitments but we always found ourselves coming back to one another. With shins and ribs pressed close, we all just sorta fit into this really goddamn beautiful pack. A family of wolves. 

Negan looks up mid-laugh as Seth laments the details of his latest conquest, detailing how he’d been chased at knifepoint by an angry spouse. “You coming, Bunny?”

“Yeah, Bear,” I find myself saying softly, “just a minute.”

With a soft click, I shut the door with a small laugh. 

My little wolf pack. 


End file.
